Crowd Eats The Mic

rock, ’94 basement grunge, male vocals, blown-out guitars with palm-muted churn under a snarling lead. Verse sits in a tight pocket over a manic, pick-driven bass that jumps octaves and slides between roots, drums pushing with flammed snares. Choruses explode with gang vocals, chopped start-stop hits, and feedback stabs; bridge drops to bass-and-drums chant before the full band slams back in. Mix gritty and hot, vocals strained and right on the edge of breaking., grunge, vocal